


Kerosene icicles

by heliohyuckss



Series: Welcome to my playground [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dubious Morality, M/M, Murder, There may or may not be major character death, Uhm, a dangerous combo ngl, but then again it’s up to you, dystopia in a utopia coating, everything is implied, hyuck is scared and whipped, im sorry, jaemin will actually kill you, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24024241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliohyuckss/pseuds/heliohyuckss
Summary: Na Jaemin is every known metaphor for twisted. Petrol rainbows, shimmery and glossy in his honey-dripping words. Burnt petals in his kisses, brands of fire in his touch, scalding, white-hot.Twist twist twist.Entangled stems of burning roses, gasoline dripping off the thorns. Burns a pretty blue-orange. Black eats red and everything dies an ashy white-grey.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Series: Welcome to my playground [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732981
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	Kerosene icicles

**Author's Note:**

> tw// murder, death, and total fucking insanity
> 
> i present to you twisted jaem and whipped hyuck. If you’re looking for fluff, the door is over there, don’t look back.
> 
> Listen i have no idea what happened this just. *police drags me away* I wrote this in like 4 hours and I only have two hours of sleep before my chem paper enjoy

Ice is cold and refreshingly transparent: every single fact and flaw under careful eyes.

Read: Lee Donghyuck.

Solid kerosene is nothing like ice. It's opaque, waxy, and much harder to smash somebody to death with. If anything, they're two sides of a coin. 

See: Na Jaemin.

Melt them, and you get a completely different reaction.

Water will dissolve a tiny amount of kerosene. Just enough to taint. And a little water makes its way up, enough to make it blubber the slightest under heat.

And, oh, they do not mix well.

Donghyuck smells of roses and irises and wavering curiosity. Jaemin only smells clean. A little too clean, if you will, it almost seems raw, chemical components ripping flesh and devouring crimson.

Just, you know. Very very clean.

They pass the street together. 

Jaemin half smiles.

His lover, Jisung Park, vanishes two days later. Before him, Lee Jeno. People pat him on the back and offer empty condolences. Jaemin charms people, and inserts the idea that Jisung is out of town for a dance academy.

The people laugh. Everyone knows it’s not true, but a lie can be perfectly believable.

There’s something special about this little suburban town. Perfect records, no crimes listed. Covered under flour and vanilla and cookie cutter people.

Nobody asks, so no lies were told. The price? A few pastries, nothing much.

But sometimes, from all kinds of reasons, even the most trustworthy recipe produces wrong batches. A little burnt at the edges, maybe. Sit still, and it’ll look the same as other cookies. 

The smell of bleach gets more and more familiar. 

They pair up for a chemistry project. It’s easy, they finish the month-long course in a week. Jaemin makes excuses for them to hang out, do stupid things.

“Can’t you buy these yourself?” Donghyuck says as he’s pushed towards the counter, two bottles of plasticky cherry soda and a pack of Marlboros in hand. 

“Nah, where’s the fun in not exploiting other people?” Jaemin smiles. The other boy doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger a beat longer when cherry soda pools at the corner of his mouth. 

Maybe he’s wrong, but for a moment, his eyes glint red. 

Donghyuck remembers. Somewhere along the years of education, several pages of his general studies textbook, lies black text about inhalants. An addiction. People tell themselves once more, then twice, again and again and again.

They always go back. Hooked.

Donghyuck remembers, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Perfectly believable lies.

Then Jaemin kisses him. 

He doesn’t taste like hydrogen peroxide. Instead, he tastes like the lollipop rolling in his mouth mere minutes ago, lemons and blueberries. Sweet.

A little too sweet. 

Artificial colourings and sweeteners. A little too good to be true. 

He kisses back. The tangy aftertaste muddles him.

There’s something about their relationship now. Something with a label on it, but not quite. He’s more aware now, heightened senses in the name of love, and it slowly comes to his eyes how Jaemin is attracted to red. Dark red. And sometimes, it etches to orange and blue.

He likes colours? Maybe. Or he’s colourblind? Maybe. Not really.

Curiosity kills the cat. He follows Jaemin on a cold night.

Satisfaction does not bring him back. More questions do.

Donghyuck heads straight to the kitchen and holds up a knife, and lets his mind wander. He turns on the sink, and runs water on the blade. Sees his reflection on the metal, and he thinks he sees the same glint as he once did.

Wine pools at his feet. Cut scene: behind a small factory. Donghyuck calls the one person he can think of.

Jaemin kisses his forehead, and promises to take care of it.

Sometimes, Donghyuck does think. Is this love? Does he love Jaemin? Does Jaemin love him? They hold hands, they talk, they kiss. They care about each other. Is that love? 

He asks, and Jaemin laughs in response.

Love, just like any other emotion, can be faked. People use it with different ambitions. They say money is the root of all evil, but who says love isn’t?

“Does it matter?” Jaemin gives him a knowing look, tug at his lips never wavering. Donghyuck wants to kiss it away.

Right. Does it?

So should it really surprise him when Jaemin finally, finally plays rock in a game of scissors?

“What are you doing?” Donghyuck chokes, but he knows. They both do. He’s drenched, drowning in sticky, sticky oil. Stuck in this sticky, sticky mess.

Jaemin never spills his drinks.

“Take a guess, baby.” Jaemin is walking towards him. The logical part of Donghyuck screams at him to listen, to run and get away. 

But he’s in love with Na Jaemin, the boy who alerted his sirens just by sight. A boy with a weapon so utilised, masquerading as a flutter of wings in someone’s heart, taking down empires of logic and webs of sanity flowing through veins. Replaces them with his personalised drug and viola, another downfall.

Indeed, Donghyuck is smart, to still see through rose coloured glasses. But he succumbs to this invisible force, and willingly kneels before it.

Jaemin grabs his jaw and collides them into a rough kiss. A blade is dropped somewhere along the way, and Donghyuck wonders if he cares anymore. 

Na Jaemin is every known metaphor for twisted. Petrol rainbows, shimmery and glossy in his honey-dripping words. Burnt petals in his kisses, brands of fire in his touch, scalding, white-hot.

Twist twist twist.

Entangled stems of burning roses, gasoline dripping off the thorns. Burns a pretty blue-orange. Black eats red and everything dies an ashy white-grey. 

When they part, the pink haired boy pats his cheek twice. There’s nonchalance in his gaze, maybe even affection, in their own tangled language.

Ahh, right. Bleach doesn’t burn as quick. Not before toxic fumes and a distinct lack of oxygen.

Just like that, Donghyuck hears a familiar flick, and the flames dance around him, slithering on oil.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> And this, people, is why i drink. *swigs*
> 
> No beta we die like dreamies playing jenga. I don’t know why i have to say this but please don’t murder if you’re gonna get caught. Or date a murderer, and definitely don’t blame it on me. Be gay do crime. Just not murder. 
> 
> Comment kudos are vvv appreciated!! Thank you for sticking till now haha. I have a similar hyewon fic for my orbitzens, yall can check it out if you want. If you came from there, I kind of like to think that they're in the same universe and town, and jaemin would partner up with chaewon at school for projects and they'd talk in a way that subtly implies they know the shit that's going on. Yell at me @ on twitter muah


End file.
